Acumen
by MushroomT
Summary: No one will ever know what I did...


Fear.

It's choking me, smothering my breath like leaves covering the earth in leaf-fall. The black emotion churns in waves deep inside my belly. It rips in tides along my spine, and I pant--fast, jagged. The air around me seems depressingly thick. I feel sharp envy dig into my heart like a terrible claw. The cats around me breathe heavily in a smooth rhythm. I watch Dapplenose's flank rise and fall evenly. That's the only part of her lithe body that moves. Her eyes are closed lightly.

Why can't that be _me_? My body aches for the sanctuary of dreams, and my muscles plead for a rest. Everything has been so stressful lately in the Clan, and it doesn't help that even my friends are turning on me. I'm sorry they don't like who I'm falling for. I really am. But…are they really friends if they don't support my decisions? It's not like I'm getting hurt. Maybe they aren't…

The thought of that sends another spasm of utter terror and misery through my body. I begin to twitch, my body feeling hot and stiff. It starts in my tail--flick, flip, jerk. Then my ears. Soon I'm shaking all over, my teeth rattling so loudly that I think for sure my Clanmates will wake, or one of my teeth will slip and cut into the soft flesh of my muzzle.

This goes on for many heartbeats.

The pressure behind my eyes is growing, and my throat feels raw and sore. I long to let out a caterwaul, an ear-splitting yowl of agony. I wasn't relieved that no one slept near me.

You'd think I _wouldn't_ want to wake my friends. Why would I bother them with my silly, ridiculous fears, especially when they were already furious at me? We aren't in danger. I'm not sick, not really. There is no crisis whatsoever, no cause for my head-splitting terror.

Yet, somehow, I'm filled with despair. I want a cat to come to me, to let me press my nose in their soft, thick, RiverClan fur. I want a shoulder to lean on. I want someone to tell me everything will be _okay_--even if I have to kick them awake.

I've been having fits of anxiety ever since I was made an apprentice. I'm now a young warrior.

I don't know where they come from, or why they do. The medicine cats can't help me; no, not even poppy seeds can calm me down enough to let sleep in.

But this bout--this was worse than I have ever felt.

Bile rises in my throat. I choke and press my face into the sweet-smelling moss and feathers around my nest. I open my maw to mewl in fright, but no sound comes out. All of a sudden, the den is too cramped. I can barely move. Can't breathe. Can't think.

A normal cat--a sane cat--under these circumstances, would jump to their feet and _run_ like all of BloodClan pursued them.

I am not normal. I am not sane.

I get to my paws slowly, tentatively. The air presses around me, dark with the familiar scents of the other warriors. My fear intensifies. I gingerly take a paw step in the direction of the exit. Not a cat stirs.

A smile slowly spreads across my features.

Stealthy as a shadow, I glide toward the outside world. But when I reach the clearing, my terror does not dissipate, like I expected (like I hoped). I can breathe again, though, and my movements come with greater ease.

However, my thoughts are still clogged like too many fish in the river. My legs shake with dread beneath me, and all my fur stands on end. I want a way out. _Now._

Still, I can feel the piercing eyes of the guard, Beechfur, so I take graceful strides toward the edge of the camp. I force my fur to lie flat and my eyes to lose their look of panic; he would never let me go if he sensed something was amiss. I have always been a master at body language--reading it, explaining it, and, best of all, faking it.

Beechfur can only nod at me when I explain smoothly that I need to think and would be going on a hunt.

He has always liked me, anyway.

The night beckons.

--

As soon as I'm out of his sight and hearing, I let my distress take me.

I race like an unearthly thing across the tiny streams and hills that dot our territory. My paws scream in protest--it's late, and I'm exhausted. I hope, as I pound across the land, that my panic will blur away with the beating of my heart.

The opposite happens. With every movement I can feel my terror growing. My throat tightens and I gasp heavily--whether that's from fear or exertion, I do not know. My paws carry me far, and fast. I feel a scream building in my chest.

I want to hold it in. I don't want anyone to know where I am, or what I'm thinking. The very idea of other cats repulses me, though a few mere minutes ago that was all I had wanted.

My dismay is too great. I open my jaws and let out a cry. I don't feel any better.

I'm being engulfed, and I can't _take _it.

My body's twitching again, and I'm having difficulty running without falling. That's fine, anyway--my crazy feet have flown me close to the ShadowClan border. It's there that I collapse in a heap of shaking bones and clattering teeth.

I'm so afraid that I _hurt_. My stomach aches and my throat convulses. I shudder so hard that I bounce on the ground, the marsh catching my fur in sticky, wet knots. My thoughts race, hundreds of tiny, pitter-pattering paw steps in my mind. I can't breathe. _I can't breathe._

Crying and clawing at the bare earth, my claws catching and dragging thick lines in the mud, I press my pink nose down into my soft gray paws. I'm gulping in air, but I can't feel it. I try to think, but nothing is coherent. I pitch and flail my limbs in the air like a mad thing. I don't mean to.

Shiver. Shake. Twitch. Jump. Try to think. Try to breathe.

Suddenly, I see it in my mind. It's so clear. So perfect. So…beautiful.

Blood.

Crimson, gleaming, running down the emerald ferns and dripping in the dull brown mud. Thick and dark, flowing from long wounds. It's gorgeous.

I shake my head once, feeling confused.

Why do I like it so much, and so suddenly? I have been raised, taught, preached to, that blood equates to bad. If there is blood, something is wrong. I like to argue. Love to, if I'm verbally sparring with someone I dion't like. I hate fighting with friends, but there are some kinds of arguing that I enjoy. But physical fighting, on the other paw, I hate. Confrontation is awful--whether RiverClan (or I) win a battle or not, there is always a price to pay. Blood. Pain. Crippling wounds. Death. I never want to inflict that on any cat, not unless I had to.

Yet still the liquid surges in my mind.

I can smell it now, metallic and heavy. Salty. I watch as it floods the river I so love, sweeping in twirling tides and eddies. You'd think my fear would only grow at this horrific sight, but I am calm. Soothed.

I can see it dropping in thick tears, raining down from above and splattering the sky like stars.

As suddenly as it appeared, it's gone. Now the image in my mind's eye is replaced with a striped gray paw--very short fur, but sleek and clean. RiverClan fur. _My _fur.

Out of nowhere, there's a glint of silver. It's small, almost white in color, but the moonlight touching it makes it shine. The appendage is hooked, and looks solid…a claw. It gets bigger, and bigger--and closer. It slides against my fur, and I realize the claw is my own.

I can feel the sharp tip parting my pelt as easily as though it was skinning a bird. It digs at my pale pink flesh probingly, almost as though it was experimenting.

Then I see it: more blood. This time, it's my own, spewing forth from a very tiny slice in my opposite paw. There's not much, but it's enough for me to take in a choking, startled breath.

A normal cat--a sane cat--would have been horrified. Repulsed. The very idea of hurting oneself: it should be repugnant.

I am not normal. I am not sane.

The sight in my mind is the most enchanting I have ever seen. It pleases me more than even the face of the tom I loved, Rainstorm. More than laughing with my closest friends, more than watching my apprentice, Robinpaw, grow and learn. Even more, I realize with a pang, than the gentle rushing of the river, or the swooping of the wind in the leaves.

The image suddenly sputters out like a Twoleg's fire. It has been doused by cool water, so cold, so protective. Is that a sign? Is StarClan trying to protect me…deter me, from what I am about to do?

Yes, I think you guessed correctly. My terror still throbs in my chest. My limbs still twitch weakly, feebly, and I pant once more.

I try to fight. I really do. I retract my claws back in with such force that it hurts. I sit on my paws determinedly.

But it is the panic that gets to me. I can feel the darkness closing in on my mind, like I'm a hunted animal. _They_ were coming. I am going to die. Out. _Out._

Out come my claws. Shaking, I unsheath them, one at a time. Just like in my dream, the moonlight touches them and turns them an eerie silver. They glow, ethereal, beautiful, and out of this world. I am reminded of the glittering Silverpelt above me. If my claws share the same color as my ancestors, this can't be all bad, right?

I reach forward tentatively, and my fur parts without any resistance. My claw probes at the soft, durable flesh, and then catches.

And, for a moment, my heart stands still. The encompassing darkness of terror flees deep into the recesses of my mind, shattering into a million tiny fragments. My breath sticks in my throat and I am free, flying on the wild winds like a tiny bird.

I retract my claws. I ride the rush for a few moments, but then it's gone. Completely and totally gone, vanished. And, racing right back at me is the consuming fear.

I can't let it take me again. I won't survive.

Desperately, I dig my claws back into my skin. The panic stops in its tracks and retreats, but now I feel very apprehensive about removing them.

I cut once in a long line across my paw.

The funny thing…the really, really funny thing is that there is no pain. None whatsoever. In fact…

In fact, it feels _great. _More blood bubbles in the shallow wound, and when I finally remove my claw, it shimmers crimson. The ghostly light of the night makes everything seem so mystical. Blood drips from my claw and dabbles on the ground in thick drops.

The ecstasy of the cut is fresh in my mind, but still the terror returns. This time, though, it's much weaker. I can breathe beneath its weight now, and I am grateful. But, deep down inside, I want it to be gone entirely, and forever.

I cut once more, just above the first laceration. It feels so good: better than when I caught my first fish, better than when I became Pinefur, warrior of RiverClan, even better than when my tail first twined with Rainstorm's. I've never felt so alive. To actually _see_ the blood that runs in my veins is invigorating. It reminds me that my heart still beats, and my terror has yet to destroy me.

A final cut is enough to annihilate the raw fear in me. It's gone, just like a good dream vanquishing a nightmare.

The blood is still on my claw, and I lick it off thoughtfully. It has tangled my thick gray fur, so I smooth it down so flat that it almost covers all the tiny marks. I think of how easy it will be to pull this all off: I was chasing a mouse and it bit me several times before it finally died.

That was believable, right?

And then, the lameness of the lie makes me realize: this is not what a healthy cat does. I have never heard of a warrior purposely harming themself, especially to relieve fear. I have never heard of "good pain". Yet, this is.

But I would only do this once, right? I only needed help defeating a particularly awful panic attack, right? It will never happen again.

…right?

No one will ever know.

…right?

A normal cat would have asked for help. A sane cat would have run home and admitted what they did, and would have allowed their friends to assist them.

I am not normal. I am not sane.

--

**A/N: I don't know quite what to make of this. Yes, I know this isn't realistic. Yes, I know this would never happen in the world of **_**Warriors.**_** I just wanted to give it a go. If anyone wants me to continue this, drop me a review asking me to go on, and if enough people ask, I will. Don't expect any updates till probably December, though; I'm hard at work on my NaNoWriMo, and I used up a full weekend to write this, instead of my other project. ;) If not, I guess we'll just call this a oneshot. I'm sorry if any of the content in here disturbed you. Concrit is appreciated. Maybe I'll see you all later?**

**~MushroomT**


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